


Before I Went Under

by Asphyxiate



Category: Free!
Genre: Bullying, Friends to Lovers, Insomnia, M/M, Sleep, Water
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 06:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/949764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asphyxiate/pseuds/Asphyxiate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka Nanase is bullied at school. Will it take a hospital room and water filling his best friend's lungs for Makoto Tachibana to realize that something is dreadfully wrong? And when the time comes, will he heal him or will it be too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. together

**Author's Note:**

> //The first chapter actually took me a lot longer than I thought it would. Haven't proofread as of now so bear with me! Hope you all like it <3  
> edit: also the one song i listened to throughout writing this whole thing is never let me go by florence + the machine, that's where the title came from and i thought it suited this really well!

Haruka Nanase sometimes made promises he couldn’t keep. He would eat his lunch, he would stay out of the pool at night, he would call Makoto to let him know he’d gotten home safe. He wouldn’t eat. He wouldn’t call. He knew this, and they put up with him all the same. These were the kinds of thoughts he produced out of thin air with his head submerged in the water, sight breaking into a million pieces of blue. He thought about the way his grades were slipping, the hateful words of his tormentors that cut like knives while they slammed him into the lockers. 

The water delivered him, absolved him of his sins. Haruka was never particularly religious. As he sunk lower and lower, lungs beginning to protest at the lack of oxygen, a faint bell rung in his head. It was probably getting close to ten. He had school tomorrow, he needed to get up out of the water, he needed to get home and spend another night staring out his window as the air conditioning raised goosebumps on his bare arms. 

Those very same arms reached up to the surface, broke through the glass as they sweated chlorine. Fingers grabbed the edge and dug in, and by fractions Haruka Nanase raised himself out of the water. Stadium light glanced off his skin as he drew himself up, up, like some sort of heavenly ascension. Haruka’s feet touched concrete and the grace was gone, shivering like a lost child as the night air took each bead of water and froze it, malicious, on the spot. 

“Good night,” Haruka whispered as an afterthought, his words hung in the air as the ripples remaining from his ascension slapped against the blue tiles as if in response. Without a towel, Haruka threw his shirt on and left, bare feet silent on paved ground. If he looked hard at the sky, he could see the stars where they hid behind gray faces. The yellow lamplight hissed at Haruka as he exited the school, frowning so that the shadows around him became tremulous and dark. 

Pebbles and twigs cut into Haruka’s feet. He walked regardless, knowing the winding path from his school to his home like he knew the lines in his palm. Drops of water clung to his hair, and every time he took a step one of them rolled down his forehead like he was surprised. Crying. He rounded the turn to his house, pool water staining his cheeks. Jamming his fingers in between the door and the wall, he pushed violently until it gave.

Only upon entering his house was Haruka suddenly aware of three things— his feet stung with cuts, his phone was flashing on the table, and he hadn’t eaten all day. He decided to ignore the first and the last and headed to the living room, feet grazing the carpet and leaving bloody footprints. He bent over and grabbed his phone, bringing the screen to his face. Four new voicemails, three texts, and ten missed calls. One was from his mother, telling him she had to leave suddenly for a work trip. He was going to be alone in the house for the next three days.

“Haru-chan, I believe we talked about not swimming in the pool at night,” came Makoto’s reprimanding and slightly tinny voice from the phone’s speakers. Short and concise. The message clicked off, only to be replaced by the next one. “Call me if you get this message, I just want to make sure you’re okay.” Clicked off again. Well, Haruka certainly missed that one. “If you don’t call me back in ten minutes, I’m coming to get you,” said Makoto, and then the pleasant female voice alerting Haruka that that was the end of his messages. Haru swore and checked the time of Makoto’s message. Approximately nine minutes ago. He dialed Makoto’s number, holding the phone to his ear. 

“Makoto?” Haruka paused when the call went through, waiting to hear his best friend’s voice on the other end. There was an uncomfortable silence.  
“Oh, Haru-chan! I was just coming to get you. Swimming at night isn’t safe, you could drown,” Makoto reminded him with the air of someone who’d repeated the phrase several more times than should have been necessary. “I was worried,” he added as an afterthought.

“Don’t be,” Haru replied. “That’s dumb. I won’t drown unless I want to.” He could almost hear Makoto’s annoyance flare up on the other line.

“Listen, Haru, just don’t do it again, okay?” Makoto sounded worried, concerned. Haruka didn’t want to sleep in an empty house.

“My mom’s on a work trip,” said Haruka suddenly, changing the subject abruptly. “I want to stay over your house, Makoto, is that okay?” His best friend cleared his throat on the other line.

“Sure, I’ll sleep on the couch,” Makoto offered, suggestion quickly cut off.

“It’s your house. I’ll take the couch, be over in ten.” Haru brought the phone to his face and pressed the end call button with his finger, lingering longer over the keyboard than was necessary. He dropped it on the couch and without further thought went to grab a blanket and a movie before turning all the lights off and leaving the house, locking the door behind him. The night was eerily quiet, almost silent save the swishing of the trees as they danced wildly in the darkness. 

A storm was coming on, Haruka realized, as he felt cold prickle down his spine. Another few seconds and the heavens were wracked with sobs, the drum of the rain louder than Haru’s heartbeat. He walked on through the deluge, forging a path although he was drenched in otherworldly tears. Every slap of his feet on the pavement echoed for miles as he broke into a run, God’s waves simultaneously breaking over his head. He kept his eyes up, the flame burning blue not yet quenched by the rain as he searched wildly for Makoto’s home among the rows and rows of residences. 

A crack sounded in the distance, no doubt some sort of branch falling. The world was temporarily brought to life by a rampant flash of lightning, forking high above. Haruka had long since been shivering, hands balled into fists. The familiar final climb of stone stairs greeted him as he turned a corner, standing true while the storm raged around them. Haru made it about halfway up the stairs before he slipped and scraped his knee on the cold, unyielding ground. He wanted to call Makoto, tell him to come out of the safe house and take him far away from here. But he stood tremulously and picked his way up the remaining stairs.

Haruka rang Makoto’s doorbell, summoning up his last shred of impatience. When Mako opened the door wide, that shred hung like a dead weight between them before drifting hellward and melting among the rain. Makoto’s green eyes widened.

“Haruka Nanase, you look like death itself!” He took Haru by the arm and walked him into the front hall, gesturing for him to wait while he went inside. The brunette returned seconds later with a large beach towel, which he draped over Haruka’s shoulders.

“I’m cold,” Haru murmured. He was unnaturally cold, and he felt blood seeping out of the cuts on his feet onto the mat by the door. Makoto stepped forward, reaching behind Haruka’s head to pull the towel up onto his already-drying hair. A drop of rainwater clung to his bangs; not to be deterred by the approaching towel, it traced a line down his cheek. 

“There’s no way you’re sleeping on the couch,” Makoto replied, voice softening as he took the sopping wet blanket from Haru’s equally sopping wet hands. Their fingers brushed, and the water burned off Haruka’s cheeks. “Come on, Haru-chan.”

“Don’t add -chan to my name,” Haru retorted, the remark somehow lacking its usual bite. He followed Makoto, looking over his shoulder to see bloodstains on the mat. “I bled on your floor,” he sighed, and the older boy whirled around to stare at him. 

“Where? Are you injured?” Haruka gestured to the mat, then looked down.

“It’s just on my feet, since I didn’t wear shoes,” he reassured his friend, since Makoto didn’t need to know that he’d gotten the cuts at the pool. 

“Oh, Haruka,” Makoto said, words punctuated with a heavy sigh. “You need to be more careful. I’ll bandage your feet,” he added, beckoning for Haruka to follow him into the bathroom. As if sensing Haru’s reluctance to move forward and therefore track more blood on the floor, Makoto smiled gently. “Don’t worry about the bleeding, I’ll clean it up later.” Haruka ended up following him then, red footprints a garish contrast against the white bathroom tiles. 

“Sorry about it.” Haru’s vague comment shattered the silence as he sat on the smooth ceramic bathtub edge, extending his feet to Makoto.

“It’s fine, Haru,” Makoto replied, dabbing at the younger boy’s left foot with a wet washcloth. “I just hope the cuts don’t get infected.” Genuine concern painted itself on every plane of Makoto’s face as he washed, disinfected, and bandaged both of Haruka’s feet. The younger boy blushed, embarrassed, and looked down to where his friend knelt, testing each bandage before setting his feet down gingerly on the cold tile. 

“Thanks,” Haruka said, blunt and to the point. He stood and winced, reaching for the sink’s edge to balance himself. 

“Here,” Makoto offered, and extended his arm. Haru moved nearer to him and slung his arm around Makoto’s shoulders. “You’re welcome. What’s that?” He looked pointedly at the movie in Haru’s other hand. 

“A movie, since I can’t sleep sometimes,” said Haruka. “I’m taking the couch.” Makoto shook his head vehemently. 

“No, Haru-chan, you can have my bed. You’re injured and you’ll probably catch cold,” Makoto nagged, cracking a smile as he tried not to sound overly mother hen. Haruka sighed, ignoring the term of endearment as it was used once more.

“Can we both just sleep in there then? It’s dumb to fight over a couch,” he tacked on the end, hastily as if burned. A blush dusted Makoto’s cheeks and he gave a small nod, which was more like ducking his head. 

“I’ll bring in my mattress then,” he said, and detached himself from Haru before rounding the corner and heading, presumably, to his room. Haruka hobbled into the television room, which was funny considering his feet hadn’t been hurting so much earlier. He dumped himself on the couch, registering suddenly that his shirt and swimming jammers were still uncomfortably damp. Cold fingers fumbled with the clasp of the video case, cracking it open. Makoto dragged his mattress in and dropped it next to the couch with a huff.

“Hey… Makoto?” Haruka looked down at Mako apprehensively. His friend looked up with a smile. 

“What’s up?” Haruka looked up at the ceiling, down at the ground. He finally settled for a place slightly to the right of Makoto’s shoulder to stare nonchalantly. 

"My clothes are wet,” he mumbled with a shiver. Makoto’s eyes flashed, and then lowered.

“Why didn’t you say something earlier? No, it’s my fault for not noticing. Hang on one second, you can wear one of my shirts,” the older boy reconciled, standing up and brushing himself off before disappearing for the third time (or was it the fourth?) into the depths of his house where four others were sound asleep. Haruka hooked his thumbs under the hem of his wet shirt and pulled it over his head. The house was quiet, shadows painting a twisted portrait of Haru on the carpet as he bent over the back of the couch. Blue eyes fluttered closed, and he took a deep breath as he heard the footsteps of Makoto returning.

“Here, put this on,” his friend started, walking briskly to the couch. Haruka raised his arms over his head expectantly and Makoto smiled with feigned exasperation before slipping his shirt over Haruka where it hung loose on his slim frame. This wasn’t the first time Haru’d borrowed his clothing, but it was definitely the first time Makoto had noticed the dip of his collarbones, or how pretty his neck looked when it was framed by the frayed hem of his own shirt. 

“I’ll put the movie in.” Haruka got up off the couch and held the DVD between his thumb and middle finger, going to slip it in the player when Makoto cleared his throat. 

“You can stay here for as long as you like,” Makoto began, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, that is if you want to. My parents wouldn’t mind, and Ren and Ran—“ Haruka cut him off with one of his rare smiles. This one was small and draped itself along his features with a soft kind of grace.

“Thanks,” he said again, for what must have been the thousandth time that night. Damn Makoto for being so damn nice. 

The movie, a documentary about sea turtles, went unnoticed by the two best friends that night. They were both fast asleep. Sleeping figures shifted up and down with the slightest of breaths, the harsh lines of Haruka’s face looking almost friendly in the glow of the television screen. He may or may not have fallen off the couch at some point in the night, pressed against Makoto in a tangle of limbs and sheets. Makoto may or may not have waken up to see the younger boy beside him, may or may not have smiled and touched his forehead before returning to sleep. Haruka may or may not have registered dimly that this was the first night in a long time he’d rested easy; head on the pillow instead of buried in it, hands by his sides (or by Makoto’s) instead of clenched into fists thinking about all the things they said he’d done wrong. Yeah, you could say he rested easy.


	2. shatter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we introduce Rin as the antagonist. I'm ever so sorry <3 This was a pain to write and took me way longer than it should have, I'm having trouble finding time due to school :( but as always I hope you like it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Find a Way by Safetysuit all throughout this chapter lol
> 
> Changing the rating to M because of language and bullying... sigh :(

The morning came without regrets, and a yawning Haruka wanted nothing more to be lazy for a few more hours. Soft yellow light filtered in from the blinds covering the window in the television, drawing sweet warm circles on Haru’s back. However, the realization that it was indeed a school day hit him square between the eyes. He fell back onto the carpet with a loud thump, causing Makoto to stir beside him.   
“Good morning, Haru-chan,” said Makoto, voice slow and thick with sleep. Haruka turned his head to look at Makoto. He studied his friend’s face, how he rubbed his green eyes with the back of his hand. 

“We have school in an hour,” was Haru’s blunt response, and the words fell grudgingly from lethargic lips. “If we’re going to walk we should probably get dressed now.” Makoto chuckled and sat up, smiling to himself before looking at Haruka with a dawning realization.  
“You don’t have your uniform,” he began, searching frantically in his head for a solution. Haruka looked down at his feet, scuffed the carpet. 

“I’ll just go home and get it.” Makoto nodded. Lending the younger boy his uniform wouldn’t exactly work, as Haru was more than three sizes smaller. Standing and shaking off the haze of sleep, Makoto extended his hand down to Haruka, looking to the younger boy in that moment like his water outside the water, the most familiar and constant thing in his life.

“Gomen ne, Haru-chan,” said Makoto, “for making you sleep on the couch last night. It must have been uncomfortable.” His eyes, viridian, held a spark of amusement. Haruka’s traitorous blood rushed from the various veins and arteries of his body and painted his cheeks a bright red. He’d fallen off the couch around two in the morning and woken up with his chest flush with Makoto’s back. 

“Don’t call me that,” Haru griped, avoiding Makoto’s laughing eyes. “It’s the couch’s fault I fell off it, anyway.” His eyes finally caught Makoto’s. The older boy smiled, and it was a smile he reserved for Haruka and only Haruka. 

“Are you hungry? Mom is making breakfast,” said Makoto. Haru reached up and grabbed Makoto’s hand. The brunette pulled his friend up, still smiling as he did so. Haruka shrugged in response to the earlier question, bangs like ink dripping into liquid blue eyes. It was then that he realized their hands were still connected, and his face flamed as he dropped Makoto’s quickly. Neither of them said a word about it, merely began to head down the stairs. 

Haruka saw his face reflected in just about every photo frame; whether he was smiling beside his best friend or frowning in the background, as if offended by the sudden flash of light. He was always attached to Makoto somehow, whether it was by a hand or an arm or even a finger as he poked the older boy in the face. Funny, he thought, since he’d never really been one to initiate human contact. In fact, he found it annoying. But there was something about the dim image of touching Makoto that seemed intriguing somehow, as if it came from a different pulse or twist of his heart. As if sensing his thoughts, Makoto looked over to the oblivious Haruka and smiled.

“Good morning, boys,” said Mrs. Tachibana, turning from her spot at the stove to greet them. A woman of many talents with a friendly round face and frizzy brown hair, Makoto’s mother always went out of her way to make Haru feel at home. Haruka allowed himself a smile.

“Morning, mom,” Makoto replied, voice still deep and slow with sleep that peeled itself off him and slunk away. Mrs. Tachibana turned to flip the pancakes before gesturing towards the table.

“Sit down, I’ll get Ren and Ran,” she ordered cheerily. “Watch those pancakes for me, will you?” Haruka nodded absentmindedly. His attention was directed towards his water glass instead. It seemed to beckon; soon, Haru-chan, soon. No, the water would never call him that. It was a nickname reserved especially for—

“Onii-chan!” Haruka looked up, surprised, as Makoto’s younger brother and sister barreled into the room at top speed, latching onto the brown-haired boy. His best friend laughed, ruffling Ren’s hair affectionately before prying the children off his body. “Good morning, Haru-kun,” said Ran, trying to get on the Haruka’s good side. He cast a sideways glance at the little girl.

“Good morning to you too,” he responded grouchily, but his unfriendly façade was ignored by the twins; laughing and clambering, they captured Haru in a big hug. 

“Give Haru-chan some space,” Makoto reprimanded, though there was a touch of amusement in his words. Ren and Ran let Haruka out of their clutches reluctantly and went to their seats, chairs scraping the floor with a comfortable kind of dissonance.   
Breakfast passed rather uneventfully. In fact, a silence hung loud and heavy at the table. Haruka was fairly sure that Makoto was intentionally bumping into him every thirty seconds although he blushed, fumbled, apologized, and claimed it was an accident every time. Ren and Ran began to animatedly discuss a new video game.

“Then the good guy uses his sword to kill all the bad guys,” said Ren enthusiastically, before he was eventually overrun by Ran. 

“That’s not how it goes! Only me and the fairies have swords. You don’t have one because you’re not in double player mode,” clarified Ran with an all-knowing smirk. Ren looked slightly put off. 

“Well, if I’m playing then me and my guys are gonna kill your stupid fairies!” Mrs. Tachibana opened her mouth as if to chastise the rambunctious children but Makoto, always the peacekeeper, beat her to it.

“Let’s use nice words, Ren,” he said gently, “and eat your pancakes before they get cold.” Makoto turned to smile at Haruka, who rolled his eyes in what Makoto knew was amusement. Once their plates were both clean, Haru stood up.

“Thanks for the food, Mrs. Tachibana,” he said coolly. “I have to get my uniform from home, so I won’t be seeing any of you until later.” Makoto pulled out his chair and stood as well.

“I’ll come with you, Haru, it’s on the way to school anyway,” he said, waving to his mother and following Haruka out the front door. The walk to Haruka’s house was, not surprisingly, uneventful. The younger boy kept his eyes on the road, and Makoto tried to as well; with several glimpses towards his friend that, if asked about, he would most certainly deny. Changing into his uniform and grabbing his backpack took Haruka no time at all, and barely twenty minutes passed before they were at school. 

The metal gates of Iwatobi High School seemed prison-like to Haruka. He was an inmate himself, caught daily between his eternal sentence and overly aggressive criminals. It was true— he’d been bullied here, and every twist and turn of the school’s interminable dim hallways held a host of awful memories. Haru was jolted out of his thoughts by a tap on the back.

“I’ll see you in Poetry,” said Makoto with a quick backward glance. The younger boy nodded assent and they headed their separate ways. Haruka didn’t make it three steps towards the math classroom before he felt a hand on his shoulder. As he usually did in situations like this, the black-haired boy tensed up, brushed the hand away, and kept walking.

“H-Haruka-senpai?” A voice stuttered from behind him and Haru relaxed visibly, turning around with a glare plastered on his face. Rei Ryugazaki, a shy and submissive sophomore, was standing behind Haruka. 

“What do you want?” Haru’s voice was cold, but he didn’t really mean to be harsh to the lowerclassman. Rei seemed to sense that, and straightened up. 

“We have math together this morning,” Rei said in a matter-of-fact tone, as he did most everything. Haruka shrugged and kept walking, refusing to appease the younger boy. There were several moments where it looked like Rei was about to initiate conversation, then thought better of it and kept silent. The doorhandle bent back with a soft screech of metal against Haruka’s hand, and he entered a room that was wild with chatter and roughhousing students. 

“Nanase-kun!” Haruka was greeted at the door by several grinning classmates, but he elbowed his way past without acknowledgment. Spiteful whispers left the mouths of the other boys and snaked their way to Haru’s ears. ‘Nanase is always so snobby.’ Shut up, Haruka thought to himself violently as he made his way to the back of the classroom.

“Ah, Haru-chan!” A ridiculously cheery voice punctuated Haru’s train of thought. With much effort, he dragged his eyes away from the window and to the boy sitting next to him. Small, with blonde hair and a smile that was undeniably annoying, Haruka recognized Hazuki Nagisa, someone he’d consider a friend if he didn’t know better. 

“Hi,” mumbled Haru, turning away again and fixing his gaze on the view of the ocean from outside the classroom window. Nagisa was relentless, however. 

“Why the long face? Aren’t you excited for trigonometry? I sure am.” The blonde boy chattered on, oblivious to Haru’s exasperation. “…and I ate all of them. It was crazy,” he finished, looking to Haruka for approval, of which he got none. “Are you paying attention?” Yet again, Haru was forced to tear his eyes from the water and back to his classmate.

“No,” he managed, before sighing in somewhat of a world-weary manner. Up at the front of the class, the trigonometry teacher rapped on her desk. 

“Good morning, class,” said Amakata-sensei, Iwatobi High’s first and only female teacher. Rumor had it she used to be a Playboy swimsuit model. Only half the class responded, most in a daze either due to lack of sleep or Amakata-sensei’s low-cut shirt. Haruka, on the other hand, was too busy following the water with his eyes to pay attention to what was being said. Amakata-sensei began to take roll. 

“Is Miss Nanase-san here this morning?” Haru looked up, annoyed, and raised his hand. The teacher looked as if she was holding back a giggle. “Oh, I’m sorry. There must be some mistake here,” she said while scanning the list once again. 

“There isn’t a mistake,” Haru said bluntly. The class buzzed with suppressed laughter. The rest of math class passed uneventfully, Haruka daydreaming and Rei answering most of the questions. 

“Well, you’re dismissed,” said Amakata-sensei, waving her hand in the direction of the door. Students poured into the aisles and headed for the hallways. Many were rushing to class, but Haru had forty-five minutes to kill. His history class wasn’t meeting today due to a teacher’s illness and the inability of the school to find a substitute in time. Haru’s resolve was to find an uninhabited corner somewhere and do his work without being noticed. He followed the rest of the students out the door, turning abruptly onto the right-side hallway. 

“Oi, Nanase!” A condescending voice sounded from behind him. Shit. Haruka walked faster, hoping to look as inconspicuous as possible. He heard running footsteps. Maybe they would pass him. Should he run? “Did you hear me, gay boy?” The voice was closer than before. Fear shivered down Haru’s spine. He stopped, turned around, and caught the sight of Rin Matsuoka before he was slammed roughly into the lockers. The magenta-haired Rin and his two friends were Haruka’s tormentors, if nothing less. 

Haru’s head was flattened against cool metal as he felt Rin’s unrelenting grip begin to dig into his chest. He breathed in shakily through his nose, eyes flickering from Rin to Seijiuurou, his well-muscled cohort. 

“What… do you want?” Haruka barely managed to get out those four words before he was struck across the face. 

“Saw you fucking with Tachibana this morning,” growled Rin. “You’re holding him back.” Haru rolled his eyes, exasperated, although pain was exploding in his head. This was the drill.

“So what?” A blow to the stomach. He saw stars. 

“So what? You’re gay for him, faggot. Tachibana doesn’t need a faggot in his life. If I were you I’d stay away,” Rin spat, red eyes narrowing. Haru drew in a labored breath before he was punched in the gut yet again, and he would’ve crumpled to the ground had Rin not been holding him up so viciously against the locker. “Go kill yourself,” said Rin. “We would be so much fucking better off without you, Nanase. I’m serious. Hang yourself.” Rin drew out the last words in Haru’s face, letting go of the black-haired boy as he did so. Haru slid to the ground, doubled over in pain. He barely registered the fact that Rin and Seijiuurou had left before he buried his head in his hands.

It had all happened so quickly, the same as all those times before. Every day was an ordeal. Haruka gave himself five minutes tops to recover before he pulled himself up, stumbling to his backpack and hoping that the blow to his face wouldn’t leave a bruise. His head spun as he leaned against the lockers and counted to five, eyes squeezed shut. He let out a long, tremulous breath before regaining repose and setting off down the hallway as if nothing had happened. 

It seemed like an eternity had passed until Poetry, which was Haru’s last class of the day and the only class he shared with Makoto. Scanning for his brown-haired friend before remembering Rin’s words, Haru headed for a desk in the back corner. He set his bag down and slid into the seat, slumping over onto the desk with his head buried in his arms. 

“Haru-chan?” Haruka looked up to see Makoto standing over him, looking worried. Haru barely managed the most reassuring look he could give before turning away. “Are you okay?” Haruka nodded.

“Fine,” he replied, gesticulating for Makoto to back away. His friend reluctantly obliged, setting his bag down beside him. “Why’d you move?” Haruka tried his best to sound detached. He could feel Makoto’s incredulous eyes on him before the brown-haired boy responded. 

“Because I wanted to sit with you,” Makoto said, as if it were the most obvious fact in the world. “Why else?” Haru shrugged, avoiding eye contact. Makoto looked upset, and Haru hated it. It was painfully clear to him that he was hurting his best friend. What good was he for if he couldn’t even make the other people happy, let alone the person who mattered most? Pushing these thoughts aside, his attentions were drawn to the front of the classroom as the teacher began to drone on about grammar. 

Haruka flipped open to a new page in his notebook, scratching the date and his name at the top of the paper before flipping the pencil once in his hand and chewing at the tip, deep in thought. He’d always liked writing, to hell with it if that wasn’t what the class was doing. Words spilled out onto the page like breath. [Spending the night with you / wasn’t my intention; you wormed your way into my sheets / and into my heart. All in all I would rather be drowning / than be closer and closer until I can’t back away.] Haru seized the eraser with determination and rubbed at the word ‘wormed’ until it became light pencil marks, shreds. In its place he wrote ‘smiled,’ a word he thought more fitting…

“Nanase-kun?” Haruka looked up in astonishment at the teacher who was standing directly in front of his desk. “What are you doing? I know this is Poetry class but you should be taking notes,” the teacher reprimanded. He reached for Haru’s notebook, but the boy drew it to him as if it were something precious. 

“I got distracted, I won’t do it again,” mumbled Haru, hoping if he stared at his desk for long enough the teacher would go away, along with the quiet laughter and whispers of his classmates. It was not so. The teacher pried Haru’s notebook out of his arms and scanned the page, eyes widening as he did so.

“This is an excellent piece of literature,” the teacher said, sounding surprised. “Here you have used the metaphor for a—“ He was cut off by a student in the front row.

“Read it, please, Sensei! I want to take notes,” said the student. A girl named Miki, always the teacher’s pet. The laughter rumbled and crashed around Haru. 

“Yeah, we want to hear Nanase’s writing,” chuckled a boy, while another elbowed him in a fit of giggles. The teacher was undeterred, however, and began to read. Haruka had never wished so vehemently before to sink into the ground and never emerge. It was a wonder that the teacher didn’t stop in the middle at the laughter that bubbled up upon hearing the somewhat romantic imagery. 

“So he’s not asexual after all!” That comment drew several titters from the class. The teacher shot the student a glare and continued to read until every shred of Haru’s dignity had been successfully burned to ashes by the blush that rose in his cheeks. A rare silence stole upon the room, the teacher having finished reading the poem. Haruka remained head-in-arms on the desktop, jaw clenched. 

“Wonderful, Nanase-kun. Nanase-kun?” Haru did not respond. He felt a hand on his arm, didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t want to look at the stares of his classmates, the pointing fingers, the jeering. Time passed, he couldn’t tell you how long he stayed there.

“Haru-chan,” a voice said gently, “class is over.” Makoto. Haruka had completely forgotten his friend was in that class. It had to have been blatantly obvious that the poem was about him. Rin was right. Makoto didn’t need a faggot in his life, and now that he knew there was one he’d begin the process of removing Haru. It was almost too much to bear. “Haru? Are you asleep?” Like hell he was asleep. Haruka exhaled nervously and stood up, avoiding eye contact with Makoto and grabbing his backpack, all too eager to leave the room. “Haruka!” Makoto called after him, and as the younger boy heard running footfalls behind him he stopped. Running away would make it seem like something was wrong.

“Haru, it’s okay,” Makoto panted, winded slightly from the short run. “It was a really nice poem,” he started, but that’s not what Haruka wanted to hear. 

“What makes you think I was writing about you?” There it was, the stab in the back, the arrow in the chest. Haru had an uncanny bluntness about him as he made the effort to dissuade his friend, who shrunk back in surprise. 

“I’m sorry, Haru-chan. I always make assumptions, don’t I.” It was more of a statement than a question. A faint hint of red colored Makoto’s cheeks as he looked down in embarrassment. A pang of sadness radiated through every fiber of Haruka’s being, but he was doing the right thing, wasn’t he? He couldn’t let Makoto know that one thing about him— the thing he was constantly denying himself. 

“It’s whatever,” Haru replied nonchalantly, and Makoto understood the way he spoke enough to know that he wanted to drop the subject immediately. His eyes remained on his friend, however, and saw something there that brought upon a worried expression.

“Is that a bruise on your cheek?” Haruka flinched, a single movement throughout his whole body. Senses flooded back; his stomach hurt, as did his face and his pride. As much as he wanted to tell his best friend everything, like he always did, he remained silent and pushed forward, leaving Makoto out of his thoughts and out of his pain.


End file.
